A Reunion of Sorts
by Imalkikal
Summary: It has been nearly fifty years since the dissolution of Prussia. Now, France and he find themselves face-to-face after so long. Collab with Saja Natalia. Rated T for language and drugs.
1. France

**A/N:** This fanfic is written by Saja Natalia and Imalkikal. This first chapter is by Saja Natalia and written from the perspective of France.

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I must say that I personally despise clichés. They are overused and often there are better ways of stating what needs to be said. However, I must also admit that I cannot, in this case, find better words in this language to express my feelings of that day. I feel as if, for once, a cliché is the only way of stating it.

Truthfully, I must say, that I remember that day, the third of December, 1992, as if it were yesterday.

I had obviously been notified of the release of the man formerly known as Prussia a few years previous. Over the remaining time, I had heard word that he had somehow become known as East Germany. The fact that the man was still alive after being twice dissolved and placed in Russia's house for forty-three years impressed me greatly. Surely there were very few, if any, of us that could have survived the same treatment. I recall wondering if the man was still _sane_, a humorous idea at the time. Only many years and many more unforeseen events would show me how right I was in pondering such a question.

Well, the night in question was rather cold, and I remember for some reason that it had been the first snow of the season, or at least, that's how I perceive it. I must confess. I do truly love snow; the way it gleams in the softest of light truly pulls upon my heartstrings. I am one to find beauty in the smallest of things, and even one to find beauty where no other can. But there I go again. I must tell this story in the order it occurred, for fear of confusing events and producing nothing more than an ink-stained pile of random thoughts. Forgive me. I shall continue.

It was cold, and there was snow on the ground (glistening, gorgeous snow), when I decided to take a stroll through town. I was staying just outside of Strasbourg for the sake of a banquet I had been scheduled to attend. It was chilling, honestly, to be so close to the border between Germany and myself. Not fifty years earlier I had been at the mercy of his hands, and now I strolled along the lane without fear of attack. Astounding, really.

A couple passed by me, their speech a rapid German. Years earlier I would have fled, yet I managed to prevent my reaction from being anything other than a mild wince. I had yet to forget the memories that I associated with such speech. To be honest, I still have some trouble forgetting everything that occurred when I resided in that house.

Oh, I'm rambling again, aren't I? I forget myself too easily. You did not come to hear such a mild tale, or even to know of my experience as Vichy France. Forgive me. I shall continue with what I intended to address.

Anyway, as I moseyed down the lane, I caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye. I had just begun to dismiss such an occurrence as merely the tossing of a snowball when a bolt struck my heart. I need not look again to know precisely what I had seen, but I simply could not stop myself. I turned, frozen to my spot, and fixed my eyes on my target.

Surely enough, the motion had not been the flight of a snowball, but rather the strenuous walk of someone unaccustomed to the area. The man glanced around rather often, as if afraid someone would accost him, yet it was made obvious by his stance that he could sufficiently defend himself against any such aggressor.

No, the snowball that I had seen was rather the hair of a familiar albino working his way down my streets.

I do not know, to this day, whether he had known that he was in my territory. It's quite possible, from the state he later proved to be in, that he was unaware he was moving at all. Yet a force flared in me at that moment, a feeling of an unidentified emotion. Perhaps it was fear, perhaps fury, perhaps even – oui, I dare wonder if it was perhaps even that. All I knew was that I was soon flying down the slope separating us, running as if I were a mad man, or merely as if I were a child.

As soon as I reached the bottom, the untouched snow now marred with tracks of my descent, I rushed towards him. "Prussia!" I heard myself call. I don't know why I called out, nor do I know why I made such a hurried path towards him, but soon my hand was placed upon his shoulder.

"Prussia," I said, gasping for breath. "It's been a long time!"


	2. Prussia

**A/N:** This fanfic is written by Saja Natalia and Imalkikal. This second chapter is by Imalkikal and written from the perspective of Prussia.

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There are some things in this world that you just want to forget. There are some things so terrible, so fucked up, that you never want to think about them again. But those are the things that plague your thoughts and drive you insane.

Two dissolutions and forty-three years with Soviet Russia later, I understand that more than anyone else. I'd been betrayed by anyone and everyone I thought I could trust. Fuck 'em. That's what I say. Who needs 'em?

…I need some fucking weed.

Or heroin.

Or Mein Gott, something, _anything_, to make this go away.

Was that Russia?

No…of course not…just the wind…

…Fuck…It was cold. Really fucking cold. It was a little over two years since the wall came down. Since I hadn't been able to hang around there for a while, I'd gone to West Germany. Not to see West, of course. I could care less about that fucker. Who needs him?

So, anyway, I was in West Germany. That whole day was a little hazy. I'd already smoked, like, six joints and shot up some heroin. I had just scored some cocaine out of some back alleyway in I think it was Strasbourg. Then I became aware of my surroundings.

I was really fucking far West. Like…in fuckin' France far West. But not really _that_ far…and let's not talk about him. Or think about him. Or anyone. Did I still have that coke? Yeah. It's there. When did it start snowing? Oh…It's _been_ snowing…

I lost track of my thoughts a lot back then…all I knew was that if I didn't get this fix, and fast, I was gonna go fucking crazy.

Ha. I know what you're thinking. Too late for that, huh? Ja. It was. But it was all I could do to keep from killing myself or something. Drugs mellowed me out. They made me forget what I wanted to…needed to…forget. And so, I moved with purpose. Down the street and down such a pretty looking hill. Yeah…that looked like a good place for cocaine.

I began to descend the hill when I heard faint footsteps behind me. What the fuck? Eh. Probably nothing. But then I heard it. "Prussia!" That's a name I haven't heard for a while…but I kept walking. Hell, I was probably imagining it…but that voice sounded like…yeah, I must've imagined it.

But then I felt a weight on my shoulder. A hand. "Prussia!" the voice said. Deep. A man. A Frenchman. "It's been a long time!"

I turned. And sure enough, there he stood. France. One of the fucking nations that dissolved me. I couldn't tell how I felt when I saw him. Surprised…Happy…Angry…_that_…Maybe all of them.

But he was right. It had been a long time.


End file.
